


Back To You

by evolvingthedandelion (letsgethutchedff)



Category: Everlark - Fandom, Peeta Mellark - Fandom, The Hunger Games (Movies), everlark fanfiction - Fandom, the hunger games fandom
Genre: Gen, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Post-Games (Hunger Games), everlark, everlark fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2538509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgethutchedff/pseuds/evolvingthedandelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hunger Games, the war, and the torture. All things that have deconstructed Peeta Mellark until he felt nothing but pain and resentment. In this post Mockingjay story, we take a look at the world through his eyes. He wants a life again. One where he can be around Katniss and find love again with her while fighting the demons that The Capitol engrained into his very being. Being the old Peeta is important to him, but so is evolving from the mistakes he's made.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own the characters created by Suzanne Collins. My work is of my own mind and creativity.</p><p>Tumblr user- deepinthemeadow</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Every once in a while, I get this certain ringing in my ears. Sometimes it’s dull and easily ignorable. But other times, it’s like the aftermath of being too close to a bomb going off, where you still feel things move around you, but the only sound you hear is a piercing screech deafening you from within. I cover my ears with my hands, but it’s still there. It’s annoying how it doesn’t stop, making me want to scream just to drown it out. But I don’t scream. If I even make a peep about it, they will all give me looks of pity. Or worse, they will make me talk about it, while trying to medicate me in some way to keep it from happening. They don’t get it though. I am persistent when I tell everyone that the last thing I want is some drug to make me forget. Forgetting was my problem in the first place. It’s messed up everything that I was, and everything that I am right now.

There is one person who gets it though, and I don’t even want to tell her. Katniss has been through enough already. A lot of her grief is due to me. Bringing up that I have a nagging tone in my head constantly will only worry her further. It’s hard enough right now to make eye contact with her.

We have done and said what we could to make amends with each other. Whether she says real or not real, there is still too much going on in my head for me to decipher it all. They made me hate her, made me want to kill her. And no matter how many times she tries to reassure me that it’s all going to be okay now, I just don’t trust myself. But I’m working on it.

I sit cross-legged on my bed with a pencil and a piece of sketch paper in front of me. This piece of paper has remained blank for days now. I thought maybe if I kept staring at it, some kind of inspiration would come to me. Same could be said for the kitchen. I have set up all the pans, all the ingredients needed to bake something, but my mind ends up void of passion, and I put everything away again.

Crazy thing is that I don’t even feel that sad about it. Not in the way that I should anyway. I am trying to put back the pieces of my old self, but none of it feels right. None of it feels like me, despite what Katniss or anyone else tells me. So, as I just stare at this empty page, I shrug to myself and put it all away in the drawer next to my bed. Can’t blame me for lack of trying.

I suddenly feel the pain in my head, like my brain is straining for oxygen, and I wince. A flash of light shines before me, even though my eyes are closed. The light is a memory, a voice telling me Katniss is evil. I shake my head and remind myself that it’s a lie.

_She is not evil._

_She is amazing._

_She fought for me._

_She loves me._

_I think she loves me._

I tell myself I need to leave my room. I put on my boots, and head out the door. The corridor to the eating hall in District Thirteen is empty and silent. When I am alone, it feels like everywhere I go is a long journey, and sometimes I even forget where I was trying to go in the first place. Not until I see a familiar face or a sign. Eventually, a couple citizens of Twelve passes me, but I keep my head down as they whisper to each other. No doubt they are talking about me.

I grab some food, which is non-descript and basically tasteless. I chew absentmindedly, staring into nothing. My jaw starts to hurt, reminding me to swallow my food. I do so as I realize I now have company. Johanna sets a tray down, its contents the same as my own, and sits across from me.

“Hi,” she says, without looking at me.

“Hi,” I reply, not looking at her either.

We do that a lot, Johanna and I. Talk without seeing each other too clearly. We both know if we take the chance to look at each other for too long, we will see the pain. All the scars, sunken eyes, and permanent frown that The Capitol so graciously bestowed to us. Our words to be heard, not seen.

“You’re looking better,” I lie.

“No, I'm not. Neither are you.”

I almost laugh at this.

“How long do you think it will take for everyone to stop staring at us all the time?” she wondered, using her fork to play with her food.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I even notice.” This is also a lie, because it’s all I notice. “I thought you wouldn’t care about stuff like that. You said-”

“I know what I said. But I was just trying to show them I am still tough. It’s stupid.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I realize that Katniss and her mother are across the room, and I catch her eye. She gives me a small wave, her eyes hopeful. I give a tight smile back, returning to the conversation. “It’s not. Whatever you need to do to be normal…”

Johanna only nods, and we finish eating in silence.

I spend the remainder of my day drifting. District Thirteen allows us to be outside as much as we want during the day, so I walk around until I feel like going back to my room. It’s quite the routine I have built for myself. Wake up, stare at nothing, eat at some point, walk, and wait for Katniss. She comes to my room each night to see me. She has expressed that she doesn’t want to only be around me in private, but right now it’s all I can handle. I have told myself that the only way I can be me again is to do it my way. That includes the time I spend with her.

“Well, then I will take what I can get,” she has told me. So, that’s exactly how it’s done. She comes to my room each night to talk, or not talk. Not talking is easier, at least for me. I have found myself stopping mid sentence, either to brace myself for the random pain and flashbacks in my head, or because I literally have forgotten what I was talking about.

Tonight is no different. Katniss sits at the foot of my bed, talking to me about hunting. I listen as much as I can, every once in a while getting a twitch in my neck that makes me jerk my shoulders. Katniss does her best to ignore it usually, her words still coming out. She has ticks toobecause of the Games and the war, something we at least have in common. But I don’t know what goes beyond hers, whereas mine deliver that shooting pain that starts at the back of my head and around to my forehead.

“Peeta?” she asks rather loudly. I wonder to myself if she has already called to me multiple times before raising her voice.

“Huh? What were you saying about rabbits?” I say, trying to save whatever is left of this topic.

Katniss looks down at her hands. They are rough looking, her nails gnawed down enough to start bleeding. Her skin is cracked around the cuticles as well. Those hands have touched my face before, and I somewhat remember their texture. I think it was a nice feeling. If only I could register it that waynow.

“Never mind,” she says, “I’m just babbling. You don’t want to know about it.”

“Sure I do.” I hope I sound convincing enough for her to continue.

“How was your day, Peeta?”

“My day...no different than yesterday. I wanted to draw again. But then I didn’t.”

She nods in understanding, but I don’t think she really does. She has hunting, something she has always loved and been good at. Plus, in a way hunting never left her. Animals, people, Snow, Coin, all her prey whether she wanted it or not. I don’t have that. My passions were taken away from me, replaced with brainwashing me to think that I am nothing other than someone who needed to eliminate Katniss Everdeen. I think of this, as I often do, and find myself wishing I hadn’t brought it up.

“Progress, Peeta. It will take time. The art, the baking, it will all come back to you.”

She says this just about every day, to which I reply with, “Yeah. I know.”

And so the blaring alarm in my brain goes off. A voice I have tried to forget in the back of my head tells me Katniss is my enemy. I close my eyes and inhale sharply, mentally shaking the thought away.

_She is not my enemy._

_She saved me._

_They could have let me die._

_She wouldn’t let that happen to me._

“Peeta…” I hear her say, and I look at her. Her eyes are full of pity. I suddenly want to yell at her, reminding her she isn’t that well put together either. And that each time she says my name like that, in that melancholy tone, part of me will never trust her.

Instead, I say, “I think I need to go to sleep.”

“Okay.” She stands, but not before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. It feels like I'm being stung, a sharp stabbing sensation hitting my nerves. Every damn time . It kills me that it happens. I do my best not to cringe, but she sees it. I tell myself there will be a day that her touch doesn’t hurt me, but until every bit of venom is gone from my veins, it remains.

I lay down as she walks away. I need to show her she is not at fault for me being so marred by her kiss. She can’t walk out of here one more time thinking that I can’t handle being around her at all.

“Katniss.”

She turns, and I offer her a smile. It’s lazy, but I feel the muscles around my mouth stretch enough to mean something.

“Goodnight, Katniss.”

“Goodnight, Peeta.” Her own smile is small, but I see hope again in her eyes. Then she is gone.

I stare at the ceiling and sigh heavily. I can’t go on like this forever.

Don’t worry, Katniss. I will get it all back. I will come back to you.

 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! Sorry this took so long to update!

Bathing always seems to be a problem. Not that I don’t want to be clean, but I dread the whole process anyway. Being naked and cleaning myself only gives me the opportunity to examine myself. One lost leg, plenty of welts and burns, all evidence of The Games, the torture, and the war. I feel hideous, getting the chore over with as quickly as possible.

One more thing that makes makes that much harder is being supervised while doing it. Said supervisor is Haymitch. We don’t speak much, and when we do, it’s short and not particularly sweet. Haymitch is grumpier than ever, and I’m inaccessible. Some would think we make a good pair, but in reality we couldn’t be bothered with each other.  

I catch his reflection. He’s sitting in the chair in the corner of the bathroom, his head against the wall and his eyes closed. I’m already annoyed that I have to be watched, but even more so that the person who should be isn’t doing his job.

“Why are you even here?” I ask rather loudly, startling him.

Haymitch widens his eyes and tenses, and then forms back into his former position. “Because,” he says, without much feeling, “They say you still need...company. Not like I asked for the job, but I had nothing else to do.”

“So, they send in the drunk. Sure. Makes sense.”

He rubs his right temple, obviously not in the mood for my attitude. I recognize that from him, only in the past it was usually reserved for Katniss’s biting tone and sarcasm. “Ya can’t be drunk if there’s nothing to drink.”

It strikes me that he must be miserable because of his remark. He’s right. This man doesn’t have anything to drink, and therefore all the reasons he started in the first place can’t be thrown from his mind. Not that a drunk Haymitch was the most approachable person, but that state of being had its virtues. This Haymitch is dealing with demons head on. Maybe I should take notes. Maybe I shouldn’t. He seems damned either way. So, I say nothing in return and instead finish up as Haymitch dozes off again.

As much as I try not to let it happen, I make true eye contact with myself in the mirror. All I see is sunken eyes, void of brightness. To me they are lifeless. They are faithless. They are loveless. I think of a mental exercise of some kind to change what I see when I look at my reflection. I try to remember Katniss as a child, her double braided head, her innocence. It works, my pupils dilating slightly. My brow raises, registering something that resembles optimism. But it’s no use, because within a second the feeling is replaced with anger as her face turns into a mutt from the first games we were in.

_Katniss is a mutt._

_Not real, Peeta. Not real._

I take a couple of moments to breathe deeply and calm down. I wake Haymitch again by calling his name, then point to the towels I hung by the mirror, and walk back to my room alone. I contemplate my day today, wanting to change from my usual routine. My silent promise to Katniss is becoming priority number one, I decide.

As I make my way down the lowly corridor towards the food hall, I feel lighter. Though my surroundings look dismal with the grey attire, and solemn faces I see in passing, the sheer thought of trying to actually be myself today has put me in a mood far different than that of when I was washing up. It still irks me that I need to be supervised in such an intimate setting, but I am over it for the time being. And I couldn’t find it in myself to hold it against Haymitch, who was only doing what was asked of him.

I wait in the same line as always, and once I have my tray of food, I survey the large room, looking for Katniss. I find her, sitting with her mother, in the middle of small talk.

“Can I sit here?” I ask. Katniss nods with a surprised smile on her face. I actually return the smile, and it feels real to me. The muscles that stretch around my lips are more strained than what I remember in any of the recent interactions with anyone, even with her. It gives me a small shred of hope. I believe it does for her too.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Everdeen,” I say to her mother, giving her the same smile. She nods to me, attempting the salutation in return, but it’s not met with the same enthusiasm. I have always known her to be a meek woman, with a sad, solemn expression.

“It’s good to see you smile,” Katniss says somewhat quietly, like she is afraid to compliment me.

“You too,” I reply. And I mean it.

We carry on with eating. There isn’t much conversation to be had. It seems both Katniss and I are nervous, and her mother doesn’t have much to say these days anyway. At times, I try and catch if I can see Johanna so that she can join us, but she is nowhere to be seen. It can only mean she is either in treatment, or isn’t up to be around anyone.

I always wonder about Johanna more than anyone here, I think. Sure, we have been through a lot together. Things that no one here, not even Katniss, could possibly begin to understand. There are still moments when I hear screaming in my dreams, but they don’t belong to me. They belong to Johanna. Then there are moments when hers become replaced with Katniss’s and all I can think about is the invisible wall in the arena that kept me from being able to console her while the jabberjays tormented her for far too long. It was a painful to watch, and it plays like a reel in my mind still.

These are the things that keep me up at night. I can’t sleep because of my own demons and behavior. And also because when I get back to remembering real things about Katniss, they are never the happy things.

Even now, watching Katniss eat her food brings me some sort of nostalgic pain that I cannot place. I feel tension in my hands, causing me to make fists that I want to bang on the table just to get my mind to stop.

I have to get out.

“Want to go for a walk?” I blurt. “I could really use the fresh air.”

Katniss swallows and sets her fork down. “Yes, I’d love to. I was going to go hunting if you want to join me.”

Katniss with a weapon, alone with me? My heart races at this thought. It’s too dangerous.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I admit.

“Oh,” she says, her shoulders sinking. “But wait. I don’t have to hunt, right?”

‘Right. And I don’t have to stare at a blank piece of paper every day either.”

**

It’s warm out. The clouds are scattered, fully showing the bright sun peeking through the tall trees surrounding the entrance to Thirteen. To feel the air and sun on my face in heavenly, and I realize how much I miss this. Why don’t I do this more often?

I follow Katniss down a trail that she obviously is used to taking often. I don’t ask where we are going, until I see that there is no one else around and we are getting too far from our current residence. Our surroundings are reminding me too much of our first Games, and I can’t think logically for a moment.

“Katniss, can we stop? I’m tired.” I lean up against a tree, slightly panting. She probably thinks it’s from being winded since she is hard to keep up with, but really it’s because I am afraid that my brain will flip a switch and I will hurt her. Each second that passes makes me regret inviting her to be with me out here. She should be hunting, alone. And I should be in my room, sitting on my bed, also alone.

“Peeta, was I walking too fast?” she asks. “I forget that you’re not used to this, and your leg-”

“Yeah. It’s okay. My leg...I will be fine.”

“We could sit if you want.”

So we do. I lower myself to the ground, still against the tree, and she sits down in the dirt right in front of me with her legs crossed. Her knee barely touches mine, and the usual alarms go off in my head, but I quickly try to shut them out. But I can’t help the stinging in my whole body from it. I am already on high alert, and the slight graze of her against me sends my mind into a tailspin.

_No one is around._

_She brought you here on purpose._

_She can kill you out here._

_Real._

_Not if you kill her first._

There’s a sharp pain in my temples, like tiny knives trying to burrow into my skull. I can’t stop them. It’s too much to bear.

I can only somewhat make out that Katniss is trying to get my attention. I look at her through glassy eyes, her own wide open and terror stricken. Her hands are on my face, trying to hold me steady, but I grab her wrists. My grip on them is vice like, and my real self, the Peeta deep down is telling me to let go of her before I hurt her.

“Katniss, you have to go,” I yell, pushing her away with great force, causing her to fall backwards. “Get the hell out of here now!”

“No way, Peeta. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I SAID NOW! YOU FILTHY MUTT!”

“Stop it! I don’t believe you!”

I scream, wrapping my arms around my head, willing the pain to halt. As long as Katniss is around, it won’t happen. I yell again for her to go, and she mentions something about going to find Haymitch, but I am too far gone. I scream until I think my throat is bleeding.

When I open my eyes for a moment, I realize I am alone. Katniss really did leave. It’s a good thing.

As tears of frustration fall down my cheeks, I come to a conclusion that breaks me. The person I was and want to be again is either really gone, or he is still buried beneath venom that just can’t seem to leave my veins. No matter how much I try to ignore it, it’s there. Katniss is still my enemy. She is a mutt. I still want to kill her.

And today was supposed to be different.


End file.
